Free Lycan on the Edge: Broken Heart Book 13 by Michele Bardsley Page B

sparkling.
    “Trent!”
    When she cried out, her orgasm triggered
    Trent’s own. He gave a final, hard thrust and came,
    throbbing inside her, his head dropping to her neck,
    as he followed her into ecstasy.

    CHAPTER EIGHT
    “NO! NOT NOW,” Meckenzie ranted as the
    battered CRX coughed, sputtered and died. The car
    coasted onto the gravel shoulder of the two-lane
    road, braking to a smoldering stop. In the twilight,
    and through the belching smoke, Meckenzie read
    the big, official sign: ROAD ENDS 3 MILES.
    “So, this is where it all ends,” Meckenzie
    muttered. “Good to know.”
    She shoved open the door and heaved her tired
    butt out of the tiny car. She was exhausted. There
    was nothing and no one nearby. Her stomach
    growled; a reminder that her last meal had been a
    granola bar and tepid bottled water. Ten hours ago.
    She’d kill for a decent breakfast.
    Voluminous gray clouds rippled across the
    purple sky, threatening one helluva storm. A crisp
    breeze brought with it a reminder that winter could
    show up at any time.
    She blew out a breath and leaned against the
    car staring at an endless field. Not a tree or cow in
    sight. The Sooner State sure seemed filled with a
    whole lot of nothing.
    “May I help you, mademoiselle ?”
    The French-accented male voice startled her.
    Meckenzie took a moment to gather her composure.
    She hadn’t expected a welcoming committee so
    soon. She hoped it was a Broken Heart citizen.
    After all, someone out to do her harm wouldn’t
    necessarily waltz up and announce himself.
    Warily, Meckenzie squared her jaw and turned.
    She scowled at a very tall, very buff, very
    gorgeous man with moonlight hair and unnaturally
    gold eyes. He was pale—like a vampire would be.
    He wore a jeweled blue dress shirt tucked into
    black pants. His shoes were also black—Giorgio
    Brutini dress boots, if Meckenzie wasn’t mistaken.
    Hmm. No bike and no car. Where had he come
    from? And how had he snuck up on her?
    Vampire?
    He was pale—like a vampire would be. But
    there was that whole breathing thing. Unless he
    was taking breaths to psych her out, and she
    doubted that, then he was using his lung capacity.
    So werewolf?
    Shit. Did it matter?
    He stared at her. Meckenzie stared back. She
    was stubborn, but she was also practical. Her
    “borrowed” car was kaput. She was starved and
    weary. He was the only help for miles. And she’d
    come all this way to get to Broken Heart. She was
    walking a fine line between two paranormal
    enemies. She just hoped she didn’t get burned in
    the crossfire.
    Finally, he said, “I’m Ren Marchand.”
    “Meckenzie,” she said.
    “Meckenzie…?”
    “Yeah.” Meckenzie ignored his hint for her last
    name. “You’re one of the few people I’ve met who
    pronounce it right.”
    “It’s Gaelic,” he said. “Mec instead of Mac,
    right? It means ‘daughter of a wise leader.’”
    “That’s right. My mother had a sense of
    humor.”
    He waited, presumably for her to clarify her
    last statement, but Meckenzie didn’t. The silence
    went on as if he had the patience of the ages.
    Maybe he did. Once again, Meckenzie gauged his
    muscled build, warrior gaze, and designer clothes.
    Patient, sure. And predatory. Meckenzie knew the
    attitude well enough.
    “I’d appreciate a lift into town,” Meckenzie
    said.
    “I can arrange a ride for you to Tulsa.” He
    nodded toward the car. “I will make sure it is
    repaired and returned to you.”
    It wasn’t her car, so it didn’t matter if she got it
    back. Meckenzie had planned to abandon it. “Look,
    dude, I’m tired, and I’m hungry. The entire state of
    Oklahoma is under construction, especially the
    roads. I bet there’s a Motel 6 nearby, right? And a
    Denny’s. Every town has a Denny’s.” C’mon,
    c’mon. I know you’re from Broken Heart. Let me
    in!
    He offered no response. Instead he withdrew a
    silver phone from a holder clipped to his belt loop,
    flipped it open, and punched in a number.